He was late for work.
He rushed up the steps, his shoes hitting the floor with loud thumps. Shit. He had just gotten this job and he didn't have any other options. If he got fired, where would he go? Back to his mom's house, with nothing but his sketchbooks? He didn't think so.
His heart raced in his chest as he scrambled up another flight of steps. Fuck, he needed to start working out. Maybe he could join a gym or something. At least it'd be another reason to leave the house, something he'd never had an excuse to do before. Well. He could join a gym. Something he'd have the money for if he didn't get fired for being late. Fuck.
He got to the door of the office. Rested against the wall, steadied himself, and started to take deep breaths. He ran a finger through his curly hair, now covered in sweat, and adjusted his tie, which hung a little too low on his body. He was certain that he looked like an idiot. Nevertheless, he took in one more deep breath and opened the door, trying to keep quiet and collected.
Five minutes late. They would fire him for sure... He looked up and got ready to clear his throat for an apology.
He stopped and caught his breath.
His boss, Mason, was leaning on the desk, his elbows propped up on the wood, his eyes closed. His face was red and his mouth was open, panting. His coworker, Joseph, was behind him, thrusting forward, and Mason groaned softly as Joseph began to pull out and thrust in again.
He sat frozen for only a moment, unable to move or look away. Then his coworker looked up, noticed him, and stopped for just a second, too. Then he smiled: mischievous, inviting.
He stepped out, softly closing the door behind him as Mason groaned into the desk again, unaware. He began to walk down the steps.
Huh.
Maybe he should grab a cup of coffee from downstairs... just as soon as his boner went down.
~~~
Robert sat in the corner of the downstairs coffee shop with a decaf and an untouched chocolate chip muffin. With his pencil in his hand, he deftly sketched out the expression on Mason's face: eyes shut tight, jaw slack, a bit of sweat forcing his hair to cling to his forehead. Robert got his colored pencil and drew out a faint blush on his boss's cheeks. He put his pencil down and looked at it... except it didn't look exactly right.
What about the look on Joseph's face? What about the smile? Robert started sketching out the sharp angles of his coworker. Not ready for the smile yet, he wanted to stick to the expression of concentrated thrusting, of -
He heard the chair in front of him screech and closed his sketchbook hurriedly. Feeling caught, he looked up. Joseph smirked, resting his chin on his closed fist.
"Hey. How are you?"
Robert blinked. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again. "I'm ok. It's... warm, outside." He took his sketchbook and tucked it into his backpack.
"Yeah." Joseph was watching him with a quiet sort of interest. His dark eyes were focused behind heavy, sleepy eyelids. It made Robert nervous. "So... about what you saw..."
Robert tensed. "I, um, I won't say anything. I promise."
Joseph frowned. His face really was sharp. Triangular. Not unattractive. He had pale skin and dark, no-longer neatly combed black hair. Tall and skinny. Well - Robert was probably taller than him physically, but something about Joseph made him feel bigger than he actually was.
Joseph thought a moment, then smiled softly. "It won't happen again. We got carried away."
Robert looked at the table, his eyes shifting to his uneaten muffin. He took it and picked at it, popping a small crumb into his mouth. "Yeah. Thanks."
"No problem. Want to walk upstairs with me?" Joseph stood up, and Robert found himself following lead, slinging his backpack over his shoulder, which jangled loudly with various pencils and supplies. They walked up the steps and back into the office.
Mason greeted them with a warm smile. "Good morning. Robert, glad to see you. We got a book of poems that I think you should illustrate..."
"Yes sir." Robert nodded. Despite himself, he smiled, got to his desk, and started working.
~~~
It was not lost on Robert how incredibly lucky he was.
Twenty-four years old, and for the first twenty-three years he'd been nothing more than a shut-in. He made no friends at school and dropped out as soon as he could. He drew constantly: manically, obsessively, till his wrist was sore and his fingers calloused. Nothing else mattered to him but graphite on paper: sometimes watercolor paints, oil pencils, Indian ink. Never an eraser. Perfection was the goal, unobtainable, but he continued forward anyway.
Then his father had died and his mother had kicked him out.
Art degrees were for hacks who couldn't draw, and jobs meant selling your soul. But it was either that, or working at McDonald's. He had no job experience, no education, nothing.
Mason had bright blonde hair and warm brown eyes, crossing his leg over his knee as he looked at Robert's portfolio. Robert's gaze shifted to the flamboyant, bright pink two-piece suit the man was wearing, complete with a peach-colored tie. The man was practically begging to be painted in acrylic.
"This is incredible." Mason murmured. Robert's eyes caught all the details of his body, his attention at the thin black leather belt looped through the pants.
"High school drop out? We do illustrations for children's books. You know that, right?"
Robert's head snapped up to meet Mason's eyes. "Yes. I... I promise to work hard." He shifted his tie nervously in his fingers, focusing on Mason's cheekbones to draw later.
"...your work is amazing. We'll give you a chance, but you have to carry your weight. There's only three of us so far." Robert watched Mason's soft lips move as he spoke.
"Yes sir."
Mason smiled suddenly, and Robert's heart ached as the younger man cocked his head, exposing his tender neck. "I mean... you've obviously been using your time well. Your work is the best I've seen, for certain."
Robert, used to getting compliments, still felt his face grow warm. "Thank you."
"Monday at 9 AM sharp." Mason said. "That's your first day."
Robert had exhaled, left lightheadedly happy, gotten to his car, and...
He buttoned and unzipped his pants. The parking lot was empty. This would be over quick.
"Fuck... fuck..." He exhaled, furiously tugging at himself with his fist. "Ah... ah, fuck..." He thought of Mason, those lips wrapped tightly around his cock, head bobbing up and down, and he came into his other hand. He sighed out in heavy exhales and, dick still out, reached for a tissue in the console. Disgusted and ashamed of himself, he wiped it off and tossed it on the floorboard before zipping himself back up.
Monday at 9 AM.
At the time it had seemed momentous. Two months in, and it wasn't so bad. He got to draw everyday, and it wasn't as soul crushing as it had seemed. He wasn't able to make exactly what he wanted, no - but he had more freedom than he'd anticipated. Some authors were picky, but not all, and most gave only vague instruction, too worried with words to consider art. Robert was happy.
Mason was a good boss. His art was... ok. It had movement and color. Mostly Mason worked on fine print stuff: publishing, contracts, negotiating commission prices, picking up the phone and buying more toilet paper. Stuff like that. Robert drew him, his cheek resting in his hand as he scrolled through on his laptop.
He drew Joseph, too. Robert was amazed with Joseph's work, but the man himself was... not rude, just short. He spoke a bit too confidently, too briefly, preferring to draw, not talk. The man himself was monochromatic: pale skinned, slicked back black hair, wearing only white and black. The exception was his arms, where a garden of gorgeous flowers lay across them in vibrant ink. Robert drew Joseph in ink and marker, and once in mixed media: charcoal mainly, with pastel to those lovely arms.
They didn't really need an office, not really, except Mason preferred to work in one. It was a nine to five job: Robert had survived one crunch, but it wasn't as bad as he'd expected. Mostly, life was good.
He looked over at Mason, his face resting on his palm as he scrolled through his laptop, checking email. He looked over at Joseph, who was working intently at his sketchbook before looking up and catching Robert's eye.
Joseph smiled. Raised his eyebrows.
Robert went back to work.
~~~
He got fast food on his way home, ate it quickly, and then opened his personal sketchbook. Years of practice behind him, he laid out in short order Mason and Joseph and the desk, making sure to capture Mason's face, open mouthed and gasping for air as Joseph thrust intently into him -
He looked at it. Quietly got his watercolors. The whole thing felt messy and surreal. Watercolor worked.
Mason's hair: a sweaty, unkempt mess. Eyes shut and face red. Joseph's face should be pink, too. They'd had their clothes on, wrinkled, that bright orange shirt Mason wore crumpled. Joseph's hands clutching hips, and Robert paid special attention to those tattoos, spotting him in red and green and purple and -
Robert put his drawing down and put his hand on his cock, which was straining in his pants.
Why had he seen that?
Mason was beautiful, getting fucked like that. He looked so... in bliss, in pleasure. Robert liked that look on his face. And Joseph - looking up at him like that, just a bit of shock before giving way to deep arousal. Like he wanted Robert to join them.
...Joseph had meant to do that. Had left the door unlocked, knowing Robert would walk in on them. Had wanted Robert to see them.
Robert unzipped himself. His cock twitched in his hand.
He gave himself slow, tight strokes, closing his eyes. He thought of himself behind Mason instead, of Joseph being the one to walk in on them. Joseph wouldn't leave, would unzip and start using Mason's mouth. Meanwhile, he'd be fucking Mason, watching his ass grip his cock tight as he thrusted in and out, and he'd look over and watch him slobbering all on Joseph, used from both ends like a toy, like a slut...
Robert groaned as he came, thinking of filling Mason's ass with it, watching it spill out onto his thigh. He lay in his chair, panting, his other hand sticky with cum before he stood up to wash his hands.
He went back to his sketchbook and, quietly, in his own way, tried to understand what had happened. This time he included Joseph's inviting look before he finished. He looked it over.
